Familiar Stranger
by Woomie
Summary: Post Endgame. Written from Laura's perspective. Trying to start over.


AN: This is a quick one-shot set after Endgame, from Laura Barton's perspective. It's family fluff, trying to reconnect and start over. I do not speak Russian, so my translation comes straight from Google translate. Forgive me if it's wrong! Actually, lmk any errors you see and I'll fix them.

Rated T for language and implied sex. I'm so curious about what people will think. Please comment or review. Sanks!

Hello, my name is Laura Barton. Five years ago, I died. It wasn't painful, or dramatic, at least from my perspective. I turned my head, then when I turned it back, everything was different. The house looked weathered. The table that had been in front of me was gone. My husband wasn't there. The air was colder. I had no idea of the learning curve I was about to jump onto.

Like half of every single living thing, I died and came back 5 years later. The why is a very long story for another day. The how I will never understand. People are calling it "the blip" which is such an annoyingly cutesy name that I will never use it, because the reality is that we all died.

Watching footage from that chaotic time after we were gone is like watching images from one of the World Wars – you know it's real, but it's separate from you, disconnected. It must have been horrific. Planes fell from the skies. Cities were filled with thousand-car pile-ups. People went into hysterics, rioted, and an estimated 5 million more lost their lives in the next week or so in the confusion. Regimes fell, economies needed to be re-made. Utilities, health care, social services all had to be stitched together by those who remained. Entire towns were abandoned to the press of Mother Nature. It must have been hell.

And then we were back, and suddenly people appeared in the middle of the street or in an apartment that someone else lived in. Everything that had settled into an uneasy balance had to bear the strain of three and a half billion more people.

We who had been gone found ourselves floundering. Our safe world was gone, had moved on without us. So many found themselves homeless, jobless, with friends and family who had changed or died or moved away.

But we were the lucky ones. Those who stayed were easy to spot, with a little practice. They were not only older, they were weary. They were disbelieving of the miracle. They had not expected us to come back and didn't seem to dare believe it.

My children all disappeared with me. My husband did not.

Two weeks ago, I stood at the window of my kitchen, looking out at my husband Clint. I was thinking about a beautiful Irish Setter I'd had growing up. The dog had escaped from the people watching him while we were on vacation, and we couldn't find it. Nearly five month later, the dog came home. Its nature had changed. It was still affectionate, but no longer puppy-like. It was leaner, warier. Even relaxed, it always seemed to be watching and alert for trouble.

Clint was like that now. He has always been very aware of safety, always been one to identify all of the exits in any room he enters. It's a hazard of the job. But after he is like my dog – leaner, harder, warier. He doesn't seem to sleep much, and hadn't slept in our bed yet. I would find him patrolling the house, checking on the kids over and over again, and sleeping in odd places like the floor outside of Lila's door, or on the roof of the barn. (This isn't as weird for him as it would be for most people, but it's still extremely disconcerting to see!)

As I watched him that day, I knew he would be walking the perimeter of the property. Before, he would do it after a long mission, and maybe once a month when he was home, but that had changed to at least daily. And he did it with a grim purpose that made it seem like he was just waiting for an attack.

Maybe it's the loss of his best friend. You wouldn't think a former Russian assassin and spy would have so much love and honor hidden deep inside her, but Natasha Romanoff had been a beacon of both. Even she didn't realize just how much she centered Clint. How much they loved each other. They pulled off a lot of impossible missions together, but perhaps the most impossible of all was getting through each others' walls, learning to trust – and keeping it platonic. I am Clint's calm, she was his fire. I gave him the home that she never could, but she gave him a partner to watch his back. It was an arrangement that shouldn't have worked, but when was Clint ever typical?

Nat hadn't just died, she had died to bring all of us back. And it was so cruel. Clint had tried to save her, and had watched her die. He didn't know I knew, but he had tried to die so she didn't have to. I shook the thought away. The kids had seen enough tears.

As I dawdled over the dishes that day, I heard a car turn into our long driveway, and Clint disappeared. I watched the trees until a knock came to the door, knowing for a fact that he'd signal me if there was something wrong. When I saw nothing, I dried my hands and answered the door. To my surprise, it was Colonel – no General, now, James Rhodes.

"General Rhodes! Welcome to our home. I'm Laura. Clint is --" definitely pointing an arrow at you right now.

"I'm actually not here to see Clint. I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind, Mrs. Barton."

I looked at the handsome man in front of me. General. Patriot. Best friend of Tony Stark slash Iron Man, who had also sacrificed himself to bring everyone back, War Machine, super hero, and man who turned down the chance to become vice president. Maybe at one point I would have been intimidated, but I'd had an alien god sleep in my spare room. I could handle Rhodes.

"Of course, General. Please call me Laura. I don't mean to be rude, but could we talk on the porch? It isn't easy for Clint to have people in his home, and he may come back any time." I knew my husband would feel better if he could see us, even though this was someone he knew, and trusted, as far as I was aware.

Rhodes gave a genteel smile. "Of course. It's the perfect day to sit on the porch. And please call me James, or Rhodey if you prefer."

He had a hint of old world charm that belied his friendship with a man like Tony Stark. Don't get me wrong – I adored Tony. His sarcasm and dark humor reminded me a lot of Clint.

"Thank you, James. Please have a seat. Since I'm rude enough to keep you on the porch, you have to have a glass of iced tea and lemon bars." See, I can be polite, too.

When we were seated, he leaned forward. His eyes were serious and kind. I knew instinctively that I wouldn't like this conversation. "Laura, I have thought about how to say this over and over, and there's no good way to do it. So I apologize if this comes off as blunt, but I believe it needs to be said." He took a deep breath and I forced myself to stop wringing my hands. "Clint is a great man. I have trusted him to watch my back many times. He has saved the world, probably more times than either of us know. But...he's changed, Laura. Losing all of you broke something inside of him. I've seen things he did, that, well, were horrific. He...it may not be safe for you and the kids to be here with him, or at least to be completely alone with him. We can offer you a safe place to stay – just you and the kids, or all five of you. We can also get Clint treatment. We want --"

"General. James." I interrupted him, unable to hear another word. "I knew Clint had been an assassin when I married him. I knew he was a spy. I went into our relationship and built a family with Clint with my eyes wide open. He has never and will never hurt us or put us in danger in any way. I appreciate your concern, but I don't appreciate you questioning his integrity or my judgment." I stood and calmed myself. "I believe you came here with good intentions. Thank you for that. But I think it's time for you to go."

"I understand." His composure had never wavered, though he looked even sadder. Clint is his friend, I thought. It took a lot of courage to say what he said, and he didn't deserve my anger. He handed me a card. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sure it was hard to hear. Please, call or text me any time of the day or night if you ever need anything. I'll do flyovers once in a while too. It was nice to meet you, Laura."

He nodded and turned to go. "James," I called, and he stopped on the stairs. "I do appreciate it. You may do your flyovers and stop in once in a while if it helps you feel better. You are welcome any time." He smiled and relaxed. "But if you ever say anything to make my children scared of Clint, or to insinuate to me or anyone else that Clint should not be here with his family, or do anything to break apart this family, I will shoot you out of the sky myself."

Oddly, this made the general smile. "I understand completely. Thank you for the lemon bars and tea."

I watched him until the car was out of sight, still working to calm myself. I grabbed the glasses and tray of bars and turned to go into the house, and almost ran into Clint. If he hadn't saved the tray, it would have landed on my feet.

"Clint! You scared me. I never heard you come in." It was a stupid thing to say, because nobody ever heard Clint unless he wanted them to. But we were awkward now, like we were just getting to know each other, like we hadn't been married for all of those years.

"Sorry to startle you. Let me carry this in." Clint's voice and eyes were distant. He looked confused and something else. Proud? I wasn't sure. He was a familiar stranger, and the distance between us ached. As I finished the dishes and ate another lemon bar, I wondered how much of the conversation he'd overheard.

I kicked the kids out when I made dinner and forced Clint to fix up their dune buggy. He was less cautious around them. He also needed a break from his incessant training. Always a fitness nut, he had become obsessed with exercising and practicing shooting, climbing, sword fighting, anything really. I looked outside as I chopped vegetables for a stew, and Clint was holding something high in the air. Lila jumped to try to reach it, and grabbed his arm, but he held her and the item effortlessly. His bicep flexed under one of many new tattoos and my mouth went dry. At least he hadn't lost his sex appeal.

It was a week later, and I had noticed that Clint had started to thaw a little. There wasn't much outward change, but he sat through entire meals without having to jump up and check each door. He'd slept inside all of those nights too. And more than once, I'd found him close, watching me as if he would take me in his arms, maybe even kiss me. Each time he simply moved away, though I could practically feel him starting to unbend. But that day I was just freaking tired and not as optimistic as I should have been.

The washing machine was busted, so I had spent my day handwashing everything for a family of five, then hanging most of it on the line because the dryer has its limits too. So when Clint came outside to find me and tell me he'd spent all day ripping out the floor in Lila's bedroom instead of working on the washing machine, I'm afraid I lost it.

"Clinton Francis Barton!" I ignored his wince. "I have been washing laundry by hand all damn day, wringing everything out by hand." I thrust my red, chapped hands in his face. "You see these hands? They aren't going to wash any laundry next week except my own, so if you choose not to get that washing machine fixed so you can complete a totally unnecessary project, you will be on laundry duty for the rest of your life." I punctuated the statement with a finger to his chest.

"But, hon, Lila has always wanted --"

But I was on a roll. "I am going to go visit Pops. You are going to hang up the rest of this before I get back." I stomped off.

"Love you, Babe," he called to my back, sounding sheepish.

"Love you, dickface," I muttered and heard him chuckle. The interaction was so normal, so typical of before everything, that I found myself smiling as I headed off to talk to my dad – Pops. Clint has a great many gifts, but staying on one home project until it's finished is not one of them. As I walked, I remembered being 8 months pregnant with Nathaniel and discovering that Clint had abandoned painting the nursery to instead pull out the oven.

I saw the hand-carved stone under my favorite oak tree and slowed to a walk. "Hey, Pops," I said out loud. While I was gone, my dad, my last remaining relative, had died. Pops had been strong in mind but weak in body, and Clint had taken him from his assisted living apartment to our house when everything fell apart. Pops had lived only 3 months, then Clint had buried him by hand. The thought still brought tears to my eyes. "I am so mad at that frustrating, wonderful, irritating, sexy man!" I poured out my thoughts to my dad the way I had always done, and when I was finished, I felt a lot better. I was frustrated with Clint, but not really angry. More than that, I wanted to help him, and he wouldn't let me. Well, I never was a quitter, and I wasn't about to quit on Clint.

"Thanks, Pops," I told the stone. "I love you." I suppose it's stupid to talk to his grave, but I don't really care, because it gives me a little of the closure that I missed out on.

When I got back to the house, I saw Wanda's horrible, mustard-colored Jeep in the driveway just past the line of sheets. Clint had hung up what I'd asked him, but his were all kinds of crooked.

Predictably, Wanda was covered in children when I walked inside. They adored her, and being around them seemed to soften the sadness that she carried. I was amazed by her, really. Like Natasha had, she was using the hardships in her life to forge her into something stronger. I think I'd be bitter in her place.

"Wanda!" I called, and she extracted herself enough to give me a hug.

"Nate, you need to let go a minute, dear," she said, leaning down to remove an adorable barnacle from her leg. "Why don't you guys go out to the barn and I'll be there in a minute so we can play hide and seek?"

"C'mon guys," said Cooper. "They want to talk without us." He threw me a half grin that always made him look like Clint and herded the smaller kids out.

"Is everything okay?" I asked as soon as they were gone.

"Oh, yes, and I'm sorry if I made you worry!" she assured me immediately. "I just wanted to ask if I could have the kids at my place over night and knew they would pester you if I asked in front of them."

I relaxed. "Sorry to be paranoid. Are you sure you want them all at once? That's...a lot to handle."

"Absolutely!" She laughed. "We'll bake cookies and eat popcorn and put sleeping bags on the living room floor. I can bring them back tomorrow afternoon."

I thought about it. Clint was hovering in the doorway of the kitchen, and I knew whose idea this had been. I trusted Wanda completely and the kids idolized her. Maybe they'd all enjoy it. "Okay," I relented. "I have supper halfway made, so why don't you eat here first?" She agreed and went out to tell the kids. I could hear their happy squeals when they heard the news. I raised a suspicious brow to Clint. I wasn't quite ready to let him off the hook yet. "What are you up to, Barton?"

He just gave a sexy smirk. "I'll help the kids pack." So I shrugged as if I didn't care and finished making food, hoping he remembered to send everybody underwear.

Supper was a typical, boisterous Barton meal. The Wanda took the kids and the noise with her afterwards, and Clint offered to do the dishes, so I told him I was going to take a hot shower and then watch a movie in peace. He nodded, suspiciously silent on the topic.

After my shower, I deliberately put on my ugliest pajamas and a ratty robe and slippers. Clint was sprawled negligently on the couch when I came out, so I scowled at him and pointed at the chair. "You sit there. The couch is mine. And don't interrupt my movie."

He put his hands up in a placating gesture and moved. I was about 10 minutes into my romcom when Clint got up and went into the kitchen and I smiled to myself. I figured I had won myself some peace. But he came back with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, which he handed to me. I took it because, duh, hot chocolate. Then he took one of my hands into his and began to massage lotion into it. I gave him a half-hearted glare, but he ignored it and kept working. He switched hands after a while, then gently pulled my feet onto his lap and massaged them. By this time, I was so relaxed I was basically a human pile of goo. My husband was seducing me, and it was working.

He set my feet gently on the ground and watched me like I was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. I was so acutely aware of that stare. Most people don't really have many of their predatory instincts left – they've been worn down through the generations. Clint is the opposite. He has honed those instincts, and when they are trained on you, it is impossible to ignore. His hand moved from the back of the couch to the nape of my neck and his strong hand began to knead. His eyes never moved, and my pulse kicked up a notch.

"You don't look quite so relaxed any more, Mrs. Barton," he whispered right into my ear, and I shivered.

Long story short, I am a total pushover for my sexy husband. I was on his lap and enjoying those perfect abs and lips, when he stood and lifted me with breathtaking ease. Then he was carrying me up the stairs. And damn if it isn't hot that Hawkeye can carry me while kissing me and never miss a step. We made love as if it were the first time or the last time, like we couldn't possibly be close enough, like we'd never let go. And I tasted his tears and he tasted mine and we were finally home again.

As I pillowed my head on his chest to settle in to sleep, I noticed a new tattoo that I'd never seen before. It was right over his heart and looked Russian, which he speaks but I do not. It looked like ʙοροτиьϲя. "What does this say?" I whispered.

A tear slid out of the corner of Clint's eye, but he didn't look at me or wipe it away. "It says: come back." I cupped my hand over it, over his heart, and went to sleep.

The next morning we made excellent use of the large shower that Clint had installed when he had supposedly retired the first time. Then, because we're adults, we took apart the washing machine. We finally had it fixed and running right when Wanda brought some very tired kids home. They seemed to sense that their dad was more himself and more relaxed than he'd been, and Wanda gave me a knowing smile when I thanked her.

Clint disappeared for a while that afternoon, and I didn't think anything of it until we were getting ready for bed. I was quietly enjoying the normality of it when I noticed he'd updated the tattoo over his heart. Now it looked like: я всегда буду ʙοροτиьϲя. I drifted my fingers over it in a barely-there touch and enjoyed the goosebumps that spread across his chest. "What does it say now?"

Clint pulled me in for a bear hug and leaned his cheek on my hair. "It says: I will always come back."


End file.
